No Men, Just Lots and Lots of Chinese Food
by routinedysfunction
Summary: What if Rory and Paris had stuck to their guns and really broken up with Logan and Doyle? Would they have painted? (Yes.) Bought a treadmill? (Maybe.) Actually used it? (Probably not Rory, barring a lobotomy...) This story focuses on the friendship between two extraordinary women, who don't need relationships to define or justify their worth. Oh, and Chinese food.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, readers! Some of you I may know from my other fic (You Can Be a Hero In An Age of None) while others may be complete strangers (as much as people joined by a common love for Stars Hollow can be), but either way, thanks for checking out my new story. A few things first:**

**1. This story is centered on the friendship between Rory and Paris. As much as I am a shipper (you can check out my other fic to see which kind, obviously the best one), this story will not primarily focus on romantic relationships for either girl. Towards the end, it may venture towards that territory, and continuations may feature that aspect, but this particular fic is just about these incredible women.**

**2. This fic is openly, unapologetically feminist. If that word scares you, go look it up and come back once you've learned the difference between the media definition (read: SCARY!) and the actuality of the concept (read: EQUAL!). That's an important part of who I am as a person and a writer, so if you don't believe in equality for women, this fic is not for you. **

**3. This chapter was a little awkward to write, as I had to start by adapting and changing an existing scene, so please forgive any little blunders (though you're welcome to point them out!). Any parts that weren't written by me were taken directly from this source ( ) and quoted. If you believe I've misquoted anything, please let me know and I'll fix it immediately! I have no intention of taking credit for the original words, which were the creation of Amy Sherman-Palladino and Co. and are solely their property. **

**I do not own any of these existing characters or concepts, all of which belong to the people referenced above. And ****_OY WITH THE POODLES ALREADY_****! Let's start the damn story!**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"I say we repaint."

"Did you ever paint?"

"No, Doyle doesn't believe in improving someone else's property."  
"Men!"  
"Yeah, men."  
"Well, we will repaint."  
"A new color scheme for a new era."  
"I'll eat to that."

Rory smiled at Paris as they toasted with their chopsticks.

"Hey, this is gonna be great. You and me and a freshly painted apartment, no men - just lots and lots of Chinese food."  
"We are going to get huge."  
"That's okay. We'll get a treadmill."  
"Yeah, you always wanted a treadmill."  
"I did. Doyle thought, 'Why get a treadmill when you can walk outside?'"  
"With all the murderers and rapists."  
"Exactly what I would say. I'm glad you're back."  
"Me too… You know, Paris, I'm really sorry about the whole editorship thing."  
"It's okay."  
"I didn't lobby for the job. I mean, I swear I had no idea.  
"Forget it. I mean, who are we kidding? I am not cut out to deal with people. I was made to be in a lab or an operating room or a bunker somewhere with a well-behaved monkey by my side. I'm sorry, too, you know, for throwing you out."  
"Consider it even."

Suddenly, a knock at the door interrupted their tender moment.  
"Did we actually order that pizza?"  
"I thought it was just discussed."  
"Who is it?" Paris shouted.  
"It's Logan."

"I don't want to talk to him!" Rory exclaimed.  
"I got it," Paris reassured her before cracking the door. "Well, well, if it isn't New Haven's favorite whore hound.  
"Is Rory here?"

"Yes."  
"Can I talk to her?"  
"No. You can talk to me." She paused to unchain the door and then opens it, still scowling. "What do you want to talk about - life, love, common symptoms of sexually transmitted diseases?"  
"Rory."  
"Rashes, sores, insanity…"  
"Five minutes, please!"  
"You know, there's a few things I've always wanted to say to you, but out of respect for my friend Rory here, I've refrained. However, the circumstances seem to have changed."  
"You don't know what you're talking about Paris..."

"I know you cheated on Rory."  
"I did not cheat on Rory."  
"Are you going to deny it? Are you serious?"  
"We were apart."  
"Oh, please!"  
"We were! We weren't together! And why the hell am I arguing with you? I don't want you back."  
"You, Logan Huntzberger, are nothing but a two-bit, spoiled waste of a trust fund. You offer nothing to women or the world in general. If you were to disappear from the face of the earth tomorrow, the only person that would miss you is your Porsche dealer."  
"Want to chime in here?" Logan asked Rory, annoyed. She smirked.  
"No, I think Paris has got it covered."

Frustrated, Logan finally pushed past Paris. "Okay, that's it."  
"Wait! Hey!" Paris protested.  
"Rory, I just need 60 seconds."  
"Go away, Logan."  
"No one invited you in. Get out right now before I go Bonaduce on your ass!"  
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. We're gonna talk."  
"What the hell is this door doing unlocked?" Doyle demanded as he walked into the apartment.  
"What are you doing here?" Paris responded angrily.  
"I want to talk to you."  
"I told you to go."  
"You did, and I did. I left, and I got drunk, and I thought about why I left and got drunk, and I realized that you are wrong."  
"I am not! And what are you wearing?"  
"Don't change the subject!"  
"Can we go in the other room?" Logan asked Rory, looking at the other couple in disgust. Rory shot him a glare.

"No. If you want to talk, we'll do it here, and now. And by talk, I mean you can talk and I can ignore you until you finally listen to the two people who actually live here who have been saying that we want you to GET OUT."

"We're supposed to be together, Paris. You know it, I know it, your life coach knows it." Doyle pled.  
"That's your argument? Your life coach knows it? The guy needed court-ordered rehabilitation, Doyle, so I'm pretty secure in saying I'm not going rely on him to make this decision for me. Which is irrelevant, because I've already made it. Now leave."  
"Paris, listen to me. I'm the best thing that ever happened to you."  
"No, you're not. Yale might be, a lot of things might be, but you are definitely not. And you are proving it every second you keep standing here, unwelcome, spewing crap. Was I not clear when I said to leave? If I wasn't, let me be absolutely clear. LEAVE."  
"I didn't have to come back here begging you to talk to me. I have options."  
"Right…" Paris replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.  
"I do! In fact, I almost hooked up with a really hot chick tonight." Rory abruptly turned away from Logan to address Doyle.  
"I don't see how that's gonna help your case, Doyle, at all. Now Logan, GO. I don't want to talk to you anymore, I don't want to see you anymore, I'll have Colin and Finn pick up any of my stuff you have."  
"You could have hooked up with a hot chick?" Paris demanded. Rory looked over nervously.  
"Yes."  
"In rhinestone buttons? Who was it - Sheila E.? And anyway, it doesn't matter. Go hook up with her! I don't care who you're with now, because we're done. Over. It's not a discussion."

Paris looked at Rory uncertainly. Rory nodded back encouragingly before responding.

"I second that. Both of you, leave."

"Now." Paris crossed her arms.

"You're not even going to hear me out?" Logan asked in disbelief.  
"No. I don't care what you have to say," Rory replied.  
"That seems a little unfair. Totalitarian."  
"Well, tough. Go cry about it to Walker, Alexandra, the Council for Democracy, the UN…whoever you find most appropriate."  
"No, we weren't. Now we are. So go ahead, there's nothing in your way. I'm not going to ask you again." Pointedly, she looked at the door. Logan sighed and walked out into the hallway.

"You're gonna regret this, Ace."

"No, I'm really not."

Closing the door, she turned to face Paris and Doyle. "Paris?"

"Doyle was just leaving."  
"No, I wasn't."  
"Yes, you are!"

Rory interrupted, "Look, Doyle, I know you're upset and you want to talk to Paris, but listen to her. She doesn't want to talk to you! She wants you to leave, and to be honest, I agree. So I think it's time you go home." Doyle looked at her, annoyed.  
"Rory, this is none of your…"  
"It's my apartment too, so who's in it is absolutely my business. And I'm asking you to leave."

"Being inside a place of residence without the consent of anyone who lives there…there's a name for that. Trespassing. It's a crime." Paris added.

"You're being ridiculous."

"AM I?"

"YES?

"OH REALLY?

"YES, YOU'RE BEING CRAZY. BUT I SHOULDN'T BE SO SURPRISED, THAT'S NOTHING NEW!"

Paris stepped back, stunned. Immediately Rory stepped between them.

"Doyle, get out," Rory ordered, her voice cold.

Doyle's face crumpled. "Paris, I didn't…"

"Doyle, now." Rory opened the door and gestured Doyle through it.

With one last regretful look at Paris, Doyle walked outside. Quickly Rory slammed the door, bolting every one of its many locks.

Rory looked over at Paris. Her face was still frozen. Walking over to her, she put her arm around her shoulder and sighed heavily.

"So…pizza? And ice cream? Or do you want to punch my head? You seem to find Krav Maga therapeutic…"

Reluctantly Paris smiled. After a long pause, she quietly responded. "Pizza. Maybe Thai. Or brownies. And brownies."

Rory grinned. "You're well on your way to becoming a Gilmore."

"Or an obesity statistic."

"You're forgetting about the treadmill."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks to those of you who have checked out/are checking out this story. I appreciate you being kind about the first chapter...I'll probably redo it over time. It's tough adapting something that already exists in a different format. But I hope you enjoy this chapter, which is probably a lot more typical of what to expect from this fic! **

**In case anyone was wondering, I will probably be posting on both this and YCBAH with equal frequency, but I might focus on getting a few chapters of this out first, just to get it rolling. **

**Please follow, favorite and/or review if you're so inclined! Especially review, I always appreciate feedback, whether critical or positive, as long as it's constructive. **

**I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of these characters or concepts, and I owe anything I do create to Amy Sherman-Palladino, a veritable genius and probably in my top five most-admired people in the world. However, I don't owe my ridiculous penchant for junk food and coffee to anything but my nature.**

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**Chapter 2**

"But…"

"No…"

"Just…"

"Paris, NO. We are NOT painting our apartment in coordination with Terrence's reading of your chakras."

"This is about turning over a new leaf, starting out on the right foot! Making sure our spiritual energy is correctly aligned!"

"Paris, you're an atheist, and I'm basically a Food Jew without the Jew. We have no spiritual energy to align."

"I resent that," Paris replied, crossing her arms over her chest, "I have a great deal of spiritual energy. And over the last few years I have become more accepting of its influence over my life."

"Your spiritual energy does not influence your life, Paris, especially through the color of your walls," Rory rolled her eyes, "Plus, this is all about independence! Empowerment! A sense of control! Which necessitates that we empower ourselves by choosing our own paint colors without the advice of any life coaching professionals or referenced deities."

Paris sighed. "I guess…maybe you're right."

"I'm unquestionably right. So…"

"Red?"

"Too intense."

"I'm intense."

"But I'm not!"

"You're an editor now, Gilmore. Gotta embrace the bloodshed."

"It's a newsroom! There's no bloodshed! Besides papercuts. Either way, I'm vetoing red. Purple?"

"No," Paris scoffed, "Your side of the room was purple when we were freshman. If we paint the place purple, it becomes your place."

"So glad to hear you have a totally logical reason for dismissing it," Rory rolled her eyes, "Fine. Green?"

"Maybe," Paris said thoughtfully, "It's energizing and revitalizing."

"According to?"

"Common knowledge."

"Color symbolism is common knowledge?"

"For those beyond a second grade educational level."

"Then what does purple symbolize?"

"Um….selfishness."

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Rory sighed, "Okay, so green's a maybe for the main room. I want to do my bedroom blue. Unless you were planning on doing blue?"

"No, too pacific for me," Paris said, clicking through the website, "What…about…this as a color scheme?" Rory leaned over and looked at the picture.

"Actually, I really like it. Which one were you thinking for your bedroom?"

"The teal."

"I thought blue was too pacific for you."

"Teal's mainly green. And a little bit of calm is probably good for my personal development."

"You're cracked," Rory smirked, standing up and taking their coffee cups to go refill, "I like it. Let's go tomorrow and paint this weekend."

"There's only one problem with that."

"What?"

"We don't know how to paint."

"No," Rory admitted, "But I know someone who does."

Two days later Lorelai Gilmore was standing in the middle of their living room grinning.

"I can't believe you're going to paint!"

"You did it!"

"Yeah, but I'm actually good at doing things I've never done before and have no idea how to do. You're kind of a klutz."

"I built a house!"

"No, Paris built a house. You had a panic attack."

"Wait…that's true! Not about the panic attack…but…Paris!"

"What?" she grumbled, coming out of her bedroom, "Hi, Lorelai."

"Paris. Coffee?"

"Now," Paris said, quickly taking the cup and a huge gulp, "Thanks. Now what were you screaming for?"

"You did Habitat for Humanity. For years."

"That's not a question."

"How do you not know how to paint?"

"I only did the building stuff. I let Madeline and Louise handle most of the painting. Didn't think there would be much left of their brain cells if anything were to be dropped on their heads."

"Paris!"

"It's true," she shrugged, "But apparently we have an expert here now."

"No such thing. But I did bring snacks, booze in case this goes late into the night, and a pretty hammer."

"We don't need a hammer for anything."

"I thought it would be inspirational."

Paris rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen to refill her coffee. Lorelai frowned.

"So she seems…"

"On edge?"

"Sad."

"It comes and goes. She's kind of unpredictable right now. One second she's happy and the next she's…Paris from Chilton. Then tie-your-tubes Paris. Then craft-corner Paris."

"Tie-your-tubes Paris?"

"It's a long story. But I think she'll be okay. She just needs…time."

"And what about you?" Lorelai asked Rory gently, "I'm sure it can't be easy right now for you."

"I'm…coping."

"Are you?" Lorelai prodded, "I'm not trying to make it worse, but you haven't mentioned it since you told me."

"We've only talked twice!"

"In which time you've told me about every inch of _Paris'_ emotional distress landscape."

"Emotional distress landscape?"

"You know what I mean."

"Do _you_ even know what you mean?

"Rory, you're avoiding."

"No, I'm not!" she protested, not meeting her mother's eyes, "I'm just trying to be here for Paris. Be a good friend. And I'm fine!"

"Rory, this is a big deal. It's normal to be upset."

"I'm not upset! Why should I be upset? I'm better off without him! And it's not like it's really that big a shock anyway. What? Oh my gosh, Logan turned out to be a self-centered ass who didn't give a shit that we broke up? SHOCKING. So I'm sure he's _really_ upset about it right now. Just _devastated_. So please explain to me why I should be crying myself to sleep when he's probably in bed with a small harem as we speak and definitely not crying about anything."

"Exactly!" Paris added loudly, making both Lorelai and Rory jump, "Screw him and the whores he rode in on! And out on! Hell, mine was on someone with RHINESTONE BUTTONS. We're better off without those pathetic jag-offs. Why should we be upset? They're not upset! They're happy! Not just happy, ecstatic! Not just ecstatic, ORGA…-"

"Don't finish that sentence," Lorelai interrupted, looking incredibly disturbed, "That's it. We're getting breakfast and we are going to talk about this. I don't care what either of you have to say."

"But…"

"Or else I won't help you paint. And I'll take back Sookie's cookies that I brought with me."

"You're cruel," Rory narrowed her eyes, before sighing, "Fine. I'll grab my purse. Paris, if I'm going you're going."

"But…"

"We don't know how to paint!"

"There's YouTube!"

"Has it really come to that?"

Paris groaned. "Fine. But only if there's pancakes."

"And bacon. And waffles."

"Don't you know who you're talking to? You should know better than to even ask," Lorelai rolled her eyes, "Come on, let's go before this cup of coffee wears off and we die very slow, very painful deaths."

"Smart."

"You should have a MacArthur," murmured Paris as they shuffled out the door.

"A what?"

"Seriously?"

"Remember…I'm the one who's providing food and coffee."

"Fine, you're a saint. But you're definitely more pretty than you are smart."

"I can handle that."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter. Please consider reviewing, favoriting or following if you're so inclined, but I appreciate your reading regardless :) As always I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of its characters or concepts (infinite grazi to Amy Sherman-Palladino), but I own two different caffeinated beverages which are both within arm's length so I have a lot to be grateful for today.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"Better?"

"Slightly," Rory admitted as she took another large gulp of coffee, "How did you find this place?"

"These pancakes are amazing," Paris exalted, cutting another huge forkful. Lorelai grinned.

"I have the eye," she replied, "So, onto business. I'm glad you guys are both moving forward, but being strong, powerful women doesn't mean you don't have a right to be upset by a breakup."

"I know that," Rory replied, "We both know that. We aren't ashamed of our emotions."

"We're just…"

"Fine!"

"Exactly. We were fine before them and we'll be fine after them and without them."

"Precisely."

"Or…"

Rory sighed. "Or what?"

"Or maybe you guys are strong and will be fine after them and were fine without them and all of that's true, but you're still hurting and you're afraid that by talking about it you'll just make it worse and have to deal with it and then you won't be as fine and as strong and you'll stop being so put together," Lorelai said gently. Paris looked down at her plate.

"Well…who's to say we won't?" Rory replied quietly, "Remember when you made me wallow?"

"Yes, and I would have expected you to learn from that experience."

"I did. But it was painful. That's when I had to deal with it. And for a while, things weren't fine."

"Maybe sometimes things just have to be not fine for a while before they can really be fixed."

"Or maybe they can be fine if you don't let them overtake you. Dominate your life," Paris retorted.

"Or maybe when you do that and you fight it and you just keep living without dealing, it works fine on the surface, but it's not really fixed. And until it's fixed, you're not really functioning at your optimum. Are you really okay at functioning at a sub-standard level because of a man?"

"I'm already going to be functioning at a sub-standard level because of a man if I get upset about it!"

"Yes, but not for a sustained period of time."

"It's really weird to hear you talk like Paris," Rory interjected.

"Speak to the animals in their own languages," Lorelai said solemnly. Paris narrowed her eyes. "Anyway, do you guys see my point?"

"So what are you saying…we shouldn't paint?"

"No! You should _definitely_ paint," Lorelai replied, "I'm just saying we should mourn at the same time. Get it out of your systems."

"How do you…"

"Booze. Movies. Junk food. Things-I-Hated-About-Him drinking games. Perhaps a tribal dance."

"You're nuts."

"I'm right."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive."

"Good. Now can we talk honestly here? I want to know what really happened with Logan," Lorelai replied, "I mean, I know about the bridesmaids. But emotionally."

"…we're really going to discuss this while you attempt to shove three pieces of bacon into your mouth at once?"

"Rest assured, my focus is on you."

"Talking with your mouthful is impolite."

"As is disrespecting your elders. Talk."

Rory sighed. "Fine. I just couldn't deal with…him. The poor-little-rich-boy act, the constant immaturity, the never-doing-what-he-said he'd do. Why should I waste my time on someone I can't even depend on to show up for me? And sure, he does nice things sometimes, like at the Daily News, and when he does things like that it makes me think he can change. And I want to believe he can change."

"Whether or not he can change doesn't matter. What matters is if he will."

"And he won't. Not permanently, anyway. He'll change for a month or a few weeks and then something will happen and he'll become that guy again and sleep with an entire bridal party and I'll be left with my boring self and boring life that honestly have no ability to accommodate someone who's that back and forth, high and low. I like my life, and the fact that I act in boring, predictable ways, and I want to keep doing so. But he makes that impossible because to him being romantic is being spontaneous and wild and impulse-driven and unexpected and to me, romantic is doing what you say you will, showing up when you're supposed to, and keeping your promises. HE can't even keep his fucking pants on."

"…Wow," Paris said finally, "That's a lot of rant."

"Well I'm a Gilmore, I'm ranty," Rory grumbled, "Plus, she made me do it."

"It was for a good cause!" Lorelai exclaimed, "And come on, admit it. Don't you feel a little better?"

"No," Rory mumbled, smiling slightly, "But it's Paris' turn now."

"What? NO," Paris protested, "You just said it didn't make you feel better."

"But she was lying," Lorelai replied, "Obviously."

"Either way, if I had to do it, you should have to do it."

"But you _enjoy_ ranting. I don't."

"Well then do it really quickly and get it over with already," Lorelai retorted, motioning to the waitress to bring more coffee. Paris rolled her eyes.

"You guys aren't going to let up until I do it, are you?"

"Nope." "Bigger chance of a Brad-and-Jennifer reunion."

"Fine," Paris sighed. "I broke up with him for siding with Rory on the newspaper debate."

"But…you forgave her," Lorelai looked at her curiously, "Didn't you?"

"Yeah, but that's not the point!" Rory replied, shooting her mother a look, "He's her boyfriend! He should have taken her side."

"Well, that's totally illogical," Lorelai said flatly, "So that's obviously not the real reason you broke up with him. Or at least not the reason convincing you to stay with him in the long term."

"How can you know…" Rory started.

"Paris?"

Paris looked down. "There may have been…a little more."

"Which is?"

"What is it? You can tell us."

"This is a safe space. There are breakfast foods and caffeine and a universal hatred for men around this table."

"Aren't you engaged?"

"Besides the point. Talk."

"I just…want different things," she said finally, "I know he means well, but I don't want to focus on a relationship right now. I don't want to live with a guy. I don't want to have it taking up all my time and energy. I want to focus on school and on work and on all the things I do, and no matter how much I like him or love him or how great he might be, none of that matters to me as much as my future. I don't want to get my decision letters a year and a half from now and say 'Well maybe it would've turned out differently if I'd spent more time focused on my own life and less on sharing it with someone else.' Is that wrong?"

"No," Lorelai answered immediately, "That's not wrong. That's brave."

"Really? I thought you, especially, would encourage me to 'let loose' and 'have fun'."

"Paris, how many dates you do you think I went on when Rory was growing up?"

"Well, it took you about two weeks to start up with her English teacher so…"

"Four."

"Four?"

"Four, until she was 12. My life was Rory. My life was the Inn and my career and getting better, first so that she'd have a life and then so that Sookie and I could accomplish what we wanted to. I've never apologized for that and I never will. Look, a work/life balance is great, but sometimes relationships just aren't worth the amount of time and energy. You have the rest of your life to date. It's okay to let this time just be about you."

"That's not selfish?" Rory asked, "I mean…I've thought the same thing, but then I think that's a bit…"

"Self-aggrandizing? Isolating? Harsh? No," Lorelai said shortly, "You both deserve to be incredibly happy for the rest of your lives. And that means focusing on what's best for you and only you sometimes. It's okay to do that. Especially right now, when you're settling up for the rest of it."

"Anyway…enough Yoda for the morning. Let's go buy booze and be artistic and swear a lot."

"Like Hemingway."

"Exactly."


End file.
